Winning It All
by KroganVanguard
Summary: Rick Castle thought nothing was going to top winning the Super Bowl. Then he drove into the back of Kate Beckett's car. An AU entry for the Castle Winter Hiatus Ficathon 2014.
1. Flip of the Coin

Rick Castle's day took a sharp turn for the worse when he rear-ended the silver Merc in front of him.

It had been going so well till then too. Sharp practice all day, tough gym session, just one more game till the bye week and he could take Alexis away for the weekend, maybe up to the Hamptons, just two of them to enjoy some daddy-daughter time after a string of road games had kept him away from the loft for a little while. But it was his fault- he shouldn't have taken the call from DeAndre. The new rookie linebacker and second round draft-pick from Alabama was taking a little while to settle into the city, and Castle had told him that he could call at any time- as a veteran and defensive captain at the Ogres, looking out for the new players and helping them settle into the organisation and the city was just part of the job and a mentoring responsibility he took seriously.

Too seriously, because he wasn't paying attention to the traffic and gently and but surely ran into the back of the car in front of him when it came to sudden halt.

"I gotta call you back, DeAndre."

The silver Merc (expensive car that, he'd looked into getting one before settling on his SUV) pulled onto the side of the road after the intersection he'd run into it at into a parking space, and he found another one fortuitously open behind it. The back was a little dinged up, sure, but he'd pay for it, or at least makes sure his insurance did. He pulled up behind it, waited for the driver to get out, but making sure he had his cheque-book at hand, but everything else fell away as soon as he saw-

Long, lean, beautiful legs made their way out of the other car, followed by an expensive suit that encased a stunning body. She was beautiful, even when she was scowling and angry at him, chestnut-brown hair pulled tightly back in a professional-looking bun to match that suit. He struggled to undo his seatbelt, fingers fumbling at the latch, till he only just stumbled out onto the busy street just as she reached his door. In her late 20s or early 30s (one of those face it was hard to tell with), up close she was even more gorgeous, even with those hazel eyes glittering and nose wrinkled with real annoyance and anger. She was really cute when she was angry.

"I'm sorry."

He blurted out just before she reached him.

"Yeah? You should be. This is just what I need today, on top of everything else."

"Listen, I'm sorry. I'll take care of it, I'm Rick Castle."

He leads with his hand, expecting her to shake it, expecting her to know the name, to soften her features, her stance. It has worked so many times in past before. Truth be told, usually women come up to him to ask him to sign their chests, not angrily shaking their fingers in his face like she's doing now.

"I don't care who you are. I don't care if you're the President. I've been up all night working on a deposition for a lawsuit worth over half-a-billion dollars, and this is the last damn straw."

She was a firecracker this one, all pent-up passion and ferocity. She'd be more than a handful in bed, and he liked that. Liked that a lot. She's almost as tall as him too, can almost look him in the eye, though the glance he sneaks down at her feet shows that some fairly impressive heels have a lot to do with that.

She can keep the heels on, he decides.

"Listen, like I said, I'm sorry. I'm happy to reimburse you the cost of the repairs, give you my contact and insurance details. I'd be even happy to let you spank me."

He smiled with that easy charm that melted hearts and dropped panties so many times before, but this time it's the wrong move.

"Look, Mr. Super-Bowl-MVP, talk-of-the-town, those kinds of lines probably work on cheerleaders and models, but I'm a corporate attorney and I work for a living and I'm gonna take you for every dime it costs to repair my car."

"So you are fan."

She blushes a little, caught in the honesty of her own tirade, and he can't help the easy grin that comes over his face at that.

"I'm not!"

"Listen, at least tell me your name."

"Kate Beckett."

"Well, Ms. Beckett, once again I'd like to apologise for what happened."

This time she does take his hand, her lean fingers surprisingly strong in the broad paw of his hand, even as he dwarfs her in size.

She isn't cowed even though he's managed to put her on the back foot temporarily, and brings out her phone to snap a pic of his car.

"License?"

He hands it over wordlessly. As soon as she's gone, he's going to call his agent Paula and she's going to handle the rest of the paperwork for him, but damned if he's going to let her walk out his life just like that.

"Listen, Kate-"

"I like it better when you called me Beckett, actually."

She smirks at him, and he can see the little power-play for what it is. That said, it's been a while since anyone challenged him like that instead of simpering and acceding to his whims.

"Beckett then. I feel really bad for this. On top of taking care of the damage, why don't I take you out for dinner."

"Save it, Rick-"

"Castle, please."

Of course, two can play at that game.

"Fine, Castle then."

She takes a sharp breath.

"I don't really have any intention of being the next Page-Six fodder on your arm at the latest fashionable restaurant or club. You don't need to schmooze me or charm me, and you definitely can stop flirting with me."

"I wasn't-"

"You were though. I'm a lawyer, it's my job to discern a person's hidden motivations."

"And you're very good at it, Beckett."

"Thanks."

She grinned triumphantly, the first time he'd seen her features relax into any kind of positive expression, and he saw the for the first time the person under the professional veneer, the girl who'd grown up into the fierce tigress who'd verbally tamed him into submission. It was entrancing. He wanted to know everything about her.

"Listen, at least let me buy you a cup of coffee?"

He inclined his head towards the Starbucks just up the block from where they stood next to their cars, and he noted the way her eyes came back to him, quickly running up and down his body in a way that was part-assessment and part-undressing. That he did not mind at all. Later, she would claim she'd only said yes because she needed the caffeine hit, but he'd remember the way those speckled green-brown orbs moved for a long, long time.

* * *

><p>The inside of the coffee shop is mid-afternoon busy, a hubbub of conversation and life as he steps inside behind her. He feels a few eyes swing his way, but luckily no one comes up to talk to him or ask for an autograph at this time. Generally New Yorkers are a private bunch, and they respect his space and time when he's out of uniform- it's one reason he came back home from California mid-way through his career, signing for his hometown team for less money. Of course the other team in the city, the Fighters, had made a pitch for his services too, but he was glad that he'd picked the red, white and blue.<p>

It had worked out well for all concerned.

"Shouldn't you be at practice or something?"

He grins at the needle in her tone, the way she's trying to get a rise from him. He likes it, again, because it's something he hasn't heard in a while.

"Afternoon off, with the bye coming up. I thought you weren't a fan?"

"I prefer baseball."

"Of course you do."

She looks over her shoulder, honey-dark hair swishing over the shoulders of her grey suit, catching his eyes lingering on the stockinged form of her legs rising out of those sleek high heels. Unbidden, an image flashes through his mind of those legs naked. No better still, bare but for those heels, wrapped around his waist as that hair fell loose and curled around her shoulders as she shuddered to a climax in his embrace.

He swallowed thickly, trying to get his mind under control.

"So, how do you take your coffee?"

Her eyes glinted, as if she knew exactly what effect she was having on him. She probably did, that powerful, intoxicating mix of intelligence and beauty would be hard to resist for just about anyone. But she let him off the hook, inclining her head towards the menu, her tone quite amused and open.

"Grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla."

He'd have to remember that. She drifts away to the right while he makes the order, pulling out her smartphone, no doubt to do some highly-paid, very lawyerly things, paying him no mind at all. It's something he appreciates, something he rarely gets from women who he flirts with, ones who flirt back. The self-assurance to leave him alone and let him do his thing while she did hers.

"Hey man, big fan. Can I get a selfie?"

That's a skinny young teenager in line behind him, all smiles and jet-black skin, phone already out and he acquiesces with a smile.

"Sure. What's your name?"

"Vince. Thanks man. Loved the big hit and sack on Hudson last week."

This is an aspect of his celebrity he enjoys, just brushes with the team's fans, an acknowledgement of how much their play out on the field means to the people in the city, how much the win in the Super Bowl meant to the people in the city. When he looks up and around, he finds her looking at him, a slight and indulgent grin on her shoulder as she watched them take the selfie with Vince and the teen slide back into his spot in the queue. When she sees him watching, she quickly suppresses the grin and goes back to her phone, but it's too little, too late for that.

A moment later he's the next person to order and the barista behind the counter gives him a fist-bump and wishes him luck for the second half of the season, and then he's sliding back to stand to next her as they await their drinks. She watches him approach, putting her phone away as he comes to a stop next to her.

"Squaring up another big business deal?"

She smiles, something of the tiger coming through in that glint of her teeth, the sharp press of her lips.

"Some of us tackle our opponents….more metaphorically."

"But I bet you still lay them out, struggling to draw breath."

Her shoulders move up and down in a delightful manner underneath that suit.

"I do my best."

He really likes the competitive smirk that accompanies that acknowledgement, the look he knows he's had on his features a time or two when he's driven a quarterback into the turf or stopped a running back in his tracks or intercepted a pass before it could reach its intended target behind me. It's that feeling, that rush of adrenalin that comes every time he lines up and executes a defensive play perfectly, halts the opposition's progress and wins the ball back from their hands. The accolades, the stats, everything but the ring pales in comparison to that feeling of victory.

"Coffees for Rick and Kate? Grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla and a cappuccino?"

He picked them up and had but turned to her when she was plucking hers out of his hand, slim fingers brushing against his ever so faintly, but still with a crackle of electricity that he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"Thanks for the coffee, Castle, but I've got to go."

She must've felt it too, must've felt it for a while because all of a sudden she's taking a couple of quick steps out towards the door, out towards escape, and he knows it can't end like, he can't just let her walk out.

He catches her just outside the door, as she is headed for her silver Merc.

"Kat- Beckett. Listen. Wait."

She does at least do him that courtesy, turning around to face him, not speaking but letting him make his pitch. Those eyes weigh him up, green and dark, and in a way facing that is tougher than facing the 250-300 pound offensive linemen that liked nothing better than pancaking him into the ground, that he made his living running into and past those solid brick walls.

"Seriously, why don't we get a drink?"

"Why Castle? So I can be one of your conquests?"

He rocked back on his heels, but even that made him like her a little bit more, the way she called him out.

"No. No need for conquests. I doubt any man has conquered Kate Beckett. I doubt any man could. Just dinner, let's see how it goes."

Her features softened, and he knew she was wavering, she was on the edge, that she might just give in to her attraction. He felt like a teenager again, back at high school, asking the girl he liked out to the dance. He hadn't that felt that way in years, not even when he'd met his ex-wife back on the West Coast.

But then she hardened up again, the stone-wall of the corporate lawyer coming back, her head shaking as she backed away.

"No, no thanks. But I'll expect a call from your insurance company soon."

He nodded slowly, letting her off the hook. Standing in the middle of the busy street was hardly the place to press the issue (he was pretty sure someone had taken a picture of them just talking in the street a moment ago), though it was bittersweet to watch those elegant, creamy legs fold themselves into her car and slide into the traffic.

Still, just as being beaten by a left guard on the first play wouldn't stop him from getting to the QB on the next one, he was determined this wasn't the last time he'd cross paths with Kate Beckett.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Had some version of this AU knocking around in my head for a while. As always, I love feedback so please leave a note with your thoughts. Thanks for reading. _


	2. Kickoff

It certainly was an impressive building. The offices of Latham, Dunn & Rosenthal were decked out in expensive yet understated leather and wood, the cold stillness of the perfectly temperature-controlled air befitting the quietness of the waiting area he sat in. He felt a little out of place here, in the upper echelons of corporate America, frankly. It was a long way from the stench and camaraderie of the locker room, the crunch of grass under his cleats as he stepped out on the field, even the hustle and bustle of the media pack when he gave interviews after a game. He hadn't felt like a fish out of water in a long, long time, but he definitely was one here.

This was Kate Beckett's world.

Paula had definitely been nonplussed by his insistence that he was going to deliver the necessary paperwork and documents for the accident to Beckett himself, and had almost insisted on coming along with him to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Classic Paula, a steel-willed personality who'd carved herself a niche in a very male-dominated environment, and by far the best agent he'd ever had. But he'd managed to placate her, convince her that he couldn't exactly get into too much trouble here (it wasn't a night-club or a strip-club or anything like that, after all), and that he'd kept his nose relatively clean for the last little while anyway. A little bit of sweet-talking and the old Castle charm, plus an autograph, had gotten him past the front desk even without an appointment and now he was here, waiting to see if she had a moment to see him right now or where he'd be politely but clearly dismissed, unworthy of her attention a few days after they'd met.

He really hoped it wouldn't be the latter.

"Mr. Castle?"

The young woman who approached wasn't Beckett. Much younger with flax blond hair and a professional smile.

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Vivian, Ms. Beckett's assistant. If you would please follow me?"

He couldn't quite help the small grin that came over his face when he realised that she was giving at least a few moments of her day. He followed her assistant through the building, the plush décor just as nice in the non-public areas of the office. The law firm he used was more modern, all glass and angles and clean lines. This was a different feeling, the feeling of old money, big money, money that would make his multi-million-dollar paycheque pale into comparison. A few curious eyes looked up at him past desks or even through office doors as they walked through, some widening into recognition- even law firms had football fans working in them, after all. He's even dressed in a way that wouldn't look too out of place here. Of course he didn't pull out his several-thousand-dollar suits that would really fit in here, but he's a far cry from the usual casual jeans-and-sweatshirt he prefers away from the practice field in day-to-day life. Instead, he has on a dark blue shirt that has been noted in the past to set off his eyes and pleated khakis that are actually little tight around his thighs. He must've worked out a lot more since he bought them.

Vivian slows down as they reach the end of the corridor, in front of a heavy mahogany door with "Kate Beckett" spelled out on the name plate, and turns to him, her hand indicating that he should go in.

"She's expecting you."

"Thanks."

He steps inside using the shiny brass handle, and there she is, at her desk, typing rapidly at her computer. She glances his way for a second, and then goes back to her typing.

"Just need to finish this."

"Take your time."

He uses the pause to look around her office, which is large given the downtown location of the office building. Every square inch is an indication of status, he's sure, much like the various forms of it on the team, everything from locker position to parking spot. And Kate Beckett's space and status is one of a veteran and a winner.

Takes one to know one.

Few personal effects are in the space. Mostly there are big, thick law books, volumes upon volumes. Clearly she's one to prefer the old school here instead of just looking something up online every time. He likes that. No degrees- that would be far too gauche for an office like this. But he has no doubt that only Ivy League or top law school lawyers only make it this far at a place like this. The only thing he can find that is even a little unique to her is the photo of her with an older man, both of them hugging each other, his smile not so different to hers. Her father, probably. An older picture, maybe from the late 90s, of a beautiful older brunette woman stands next to it.

With a flourish, she finishes up her last few keystrokes and turns to face him just as his gaze finishes wandering around the room and comes back to rest on her. She's wearing a black suit today, and that honey-dark haired is coiled into a very professional bun. Her eyes are bright yet distant, her gaze professionally warm, not the personal regard with which she'd held him the last time at the coffee place. Still, she's very attractive, the firm lips and hint of cleavage under that professional white shirt catching his eyes. No doubt she's wearing those heels again too,

But still, she'd made time to see him, so that had to be something.

"So, Mr. Castle…have a seat."

She indicated the plush leather chair across the desk from her, steepling her fingers under her chin, as he sat. Watching him all the way down.

"I brought the papers."

He set down his slim manila folder on her desk, and she carefully peered at the few sheets of paper inside for a second as he sits across from her. Not that she needed to. Heck, he could've just written her a cheque here and now, if she'd wanted that instead.

He'd decided to play by the book for the moment. He had a feeling she would be the type of person who would want that. Who wouldn't be impressed by him flashing his money around, especially after seeing the office and inferring the kind of clients she would handle.

"C'mon, Castle. You didn't need to do this. Your agent could have done this. Your insurance company could have done this."

She fixes him with those eyes. Prosecutor's eyes, he fancies, though she obviously swims in corporate waters here.

"So, why are you here?"

Honesty, why not? It could hardly hurt. The symbolism of the massive wooden desk between them serving as a barrier wasn't lost on him, not when she could easily have taken them to the couches and coffee table at the side of the room.

"I think we both know why. Let me take you to dinner, Beckett."

"Castle, I'm just not interested in ending up on Page Six."

"You won't."

He wanted to reassure, to let her know that those days were falling behind him now as he was getting older. Yes, he had lived that life for a while, and he couldn't blame her for being weary of it.

"We won't even have to go out. My place, I'll make dinner. My mother is away performing and my daughter's on a school trip. Completely private, no flashing bulbs and annoying photographers."

For the first time, her lips soften into a slight smile, and he knows he has her considering again. It's a small victory, but every ballgame is made up of small victories, he knows that too well. He'll take it.

"You live with your mother and daughter?"

He shrugs, acknowledging it.

"You don't seem too surprised to hear that, actually, Beckett."

This time it's her turn to give a slight shrug, pretend that she's not quite as invested into the conversation, into him. He's read the fractional movement of a quarterback's eyes through a helmet's visor for years so he doesn't exactly miss this cue in terms of her body language.

"I might have done my research on you, Castle."

"Did you really?"

"Well, if reading the Wikipedia page counts. You left Stanford just a couple of years before I started."

He'd been recruited heavily out of high school, his raw physical talents and high academic marks meaning he had a plethora of offers from the likes of Alabama, Ohio State and Oregon. But when Stanford had come in with an offer, his mind had been made up to go to the West Coast almost straight away.

Given this office, it wasn't any surprise that she'd been out there too.

"Yeah, that was a fun time, playing for the Cardinal. But it was nice to come home back to New York too. What else did you find on my Wikipedia page?"

There's a slight blush, but no more than that, though she does let her grin widen a little.

"That you were picked early in the second round by the LA Raiders. You married an actress young and had a daughter, who stayed with you after the divorce. That your mother is a somewhat famous stage and screen actress."

"Leave out the somewhat if you ever meet her. Her ego will not appreciate that word."

"You moved to Ogres in free agency five years ago, and have played superbly since including winning a Super Bowl and winning the MVP for that game."

Those are the basics of his biography, it was true, but they'd spent far too long talking about him already. Though at least they were still talking. Small signs of Kate Beckett's reciprocated interest, but signs nonetheless. Especially the way her eyes flicked over his shoulders, hesitated for a second on his lips and then came back to meet his gaze again.

"What about you? Did you go law school there? No, that was too long ago."

She nodded, accepting the flip in the conversation.

"I went down there for college, but I only spent a year there…before transferring back to New York. I stayed here for law school too."

She'd paused for a moment in the middle of that sentence, her eyes lighting on the picture of the older brunette woman he'd noticed earlier. Now he could see the similarities between them, the striking cheekbones, the shape of the eyes and even the line of her jaw.

"Your mom passed away?"

Her eyes widened abruptly in shock and maybe even a hint of grief. An old wound, and healed, but still with the power to ache. Damn his mouth and how it ran ahead of his brain at times. He hated seeing that slight smile disappear from her demeanour.

"What are you, a part-time detective Castle? Sacking quarterbacks in prime-times and solving crimes in between training sessions?"

"No, I've just- I've just always had the ability to read people a little. Helps when I can anticipate where a QB is going to throw. Just follow his eyes. Sort of what I did there, when you looked at her picture. But I'm sorry for bringing it up like that."

She waved him off, slumping back in her chair a little.

"It's OK. It was a long time ago, but it just hits me hard sometimes."

"It must have been very difficult."

"It wasn't easy. But moving back here was the right call, much as I loved California."

"That I can totally agree with. I'd much rather New York than LA, one of the reasons I chosen to sign out here than stay in the West. That and hoping to win rings."

"Rings? One not enough?"

That slight smirk is back as she teases him, and he appreciates so very much, grinning back at her.

"Well, one's nice but more is always better. Plus I wanted Alexis- my daughter- to grow up in New York like I did."

"Her mom?"

"Chose to stay in LA, for her acting career."

Meredith visits, occasionally, and in his darker moments he gets ever so angry at how casually she abandoned Alexis, but ultimately he knows that was the healthiest decision for all of them. Especially his little pumpkin.

"Listen, Castle, I appreciate the gesture, you coming down to see me and everything. It was very sweet but I'm really busy with this case right now and-"

Her phone rings in the middle, and she pushes the button on it that brings her assistant Vivian's voice floating into the room.

"You have that meeting regarding Clayton Holdings in five minutes, Kate."

"Thank you, Vivian."

She turns back to him, but there's no need for her to finish her speech. He's already standing up, scribbling his personal cell number on the back of his card.

"I appreciate your time, Kate. I won't pester you again, but I still think it'd be great if we could have dinner. Here's my number if you change your mind, and a couple of tickets to next week's game for you, your dad, or even if you want to give them away to colleagues or clients, that's fine."

He hands her the card, and there's that similar shock of electricity again when her fingers brush against his, like there was in the coffee shop last time. He won't pin his hopes on it or anything, but it might just help sway her into changing her mind.

The good thing is, as Vivian escorts him back to the entrance, he's got practice now and he can go work out some of the frustration out on some poor practice squad guys who really aren't going to be ready for what is about to hit them.

* * *

><p>He gets the text six hours later, on his way back to home from training.<p>

_Castle, is that offer for dinner still open? I'm free Sunday night. KB. _

The little fist pump of celebration he does in his car is totally involuntary.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for continuing to read this fic. I appreciate everyone's thoughts on the first chapter, that's really what keeps me writing. I would love to keep getting feedback on this fic as it rolls along. _


	3. 1st & 10

The knock on the door was sharp and firm, just what he would have expected her knock to sound like. When he opened it, she took his breath away. It was the first time he'd seen her out of office attire, which was fine enough in its own right. Tonight though, she was dressed in a glimmering dark green dress that was just casual enough to be worn to someone's house instead of a night out, that clung to her in all the right places. Her hair was piled up high in some complicated bun that exposed the creamy expanse of her neck, with silver and jade-green earrings that set off her eyes perfectly.

Belatedly, he realised he was just staring at her in his doorway, and hadn't yet said a word. Suave he wasn't, not when she'd caught him so off-guard, looking like this.

"Hi. You look…stunning. You clean up nice, Counsellor."

He leans down to kiss her on the cheek as she enters, wrapping one arm around her slim back. She stretches into his quick embrace, her hands finding his forearms as their lips brush each other's cheeks. The light yet alluring scent of vanilla and cherries enveloped him briefly, and he knew he'd want to be up close and personal with that scent again soon.

"Not so bad yourself, Castle."

She smirked at him teasingly as she stepped back, and he grinned in response, glad the plain blue shirt that was a just a little too small for his broad shoulders was having the effect on her that he wanted to have. Good thing he'd decided against the tie and chosen to roll up his sleeves though, making it a little less formal and a little more casual.

He was also glad that neither mother nor his daughter had been around to catching him dithering over what to wear.

"Nice place."

He shrugs as he takes her jacket from her arms, hanging on one of the hooks, unwilling to boast about the financial comfort and security his playing career and wise investments have left him in though it's clear from his place.

"It's just home for me and my family. Want a quick tour?"

He diverts her attention instead, gesturing towards the back of the loft where his large book collection resides, corralling off his study from the living area. She accedes with a smile, stepping that way, and he's a little proud and a little shy at the same time, showing her a part of his world that few get to see and certainly not many of the women he's dated over the last few years. But she's different. He wants her to see this side of him, see that he's more than just bone-crunching tackles and UnderArmor endorsements and occasional appearances in the celebrities section of the newspapers and magazines.

He wants her to see the substance, and not the façade, and he's not even quite sure why himself.

"What's this?"

She turns around to ask him as they drift into the area and her eyes are immediately caught by his book collection, organised immaculately by genre and author, and she trails her finger down the spine of the nearest.

"This is my lair, I guess you could call it. I study film on here for the team, learning our schemes and our opposition's offensive structures, and retreat for some peace and quiet when I need it."

He leans back against his desk, watches her wander from one end of the shelf of books to the other.

"I thought football players weren't supposed to be able to read."

"I can work my way through a page or two in an hour, if I really put my mind to it."

"No but seriously, this is a better collection than mine."

She whistles slowly as she gets to some of the more obscure authors he owns, like de Maupassant and Tagore, genuinely impressed now, her voice no longer teasing. He's loved books all his life, loved the escape they've offered him, the contrast to the hectic life and high adrenalin of a professional sportsman. His teammates often used to joke around about finding him with his nose buried in a book as their coach took them to and from games, or a Kindle in these last few years, but it was never more than friendly ribbing, not when he lead from the front on the field and in the dressing room.

And there was of course the one extra step his love of books and reading had driven him to. But he wasn't ready to reveal that here and now, not even to her.

"Graduated with a Lit degree, after all. Books were kind of a necessity and by-product all at once."

"Hah, I can just imagine you taking Lit classes, getting all the post-modernists and classicists worked up and annoyed."

She turns back to look at him, and he's entranced by the play of light across her features, one brown in shade, the other green and warm in the light as she steps into the sun slating in from the large window.

He flicks his gaze off her before he starts staring like a dumbstruck fool.

"Oh you'd be surprised how many of them would argue with me all the way back to my bedroom."

She rolls her eyes but it's clearly playful, a little pushback against his clichéd response. In her presence, it's a little unworthy of him, but she plays along.

"I'm not surprised. We all make dumb decisions in college."

"Did you? Kate Beckett wasn't always a buttoned-up corporate attorney? Colour me shocked."

It's her turn to shrug playfully, coming to rest alongside him at the desk.

"I had my own teenage rebel stage, replete with dumb decisions, especially the year I spent out at Stanford away from here and my parents and everything."

He glances across at her smoky eyes, half-hidden at this angle, as her shoulder brushes against his with slight movement. Even without direct skin contact, he can feel the heat of her just a few inches away, the electricity that always arcs between them unbidden in moments like these when their guards are lowered.

They both feel the magnetic pull towards each other, but she shies away first, jerking her face away from him before anything can happen. He doesn't fight it, doesn't mind it at all, happy to let that chemistry simmer for the time being instead of rushing into anything.

"So, can I get you a drink? What's your poison, Ka- Beckett?"

She took a breath, slipping him a small smile in appreciation of letting the tension break at least for the moment.

"Red wine, please."

* * *

><p>"Dinner is served."<p>

She sat at the table, with that glass he'd poured her almost finished. He slid one plate in front of her, hoping it would be impressive.

"Made this yourself, Castle?"

"Of course. I learned to cook for myself long before college, what with mother tripping in and out of the house at all sorts of hours before and after her shows. Of course, that was also when I learned how to make her a Bloody Mary."

He brought over the salad on the side, as well as his own plate, setting them down with a little bit of flourish and showmanship that made her grin.

He liked that. He liked making her smile.

"And what are we dining on tonight?"

"This is a grilled turkey steak with a side of steamed vegetables, seasoned with a Cajun spice mix of my own making and a pineapple salsa. Had a roommate from Louisiana in my junior year, picked this recipe up from him."

"Sounds delicious."

"I hope it lives up to the billing, I think I've built it up a little too much now. But it's heartily approved and recommended by our team's fitness and nutrition guru, so there's that at least."

"As long as I don't have to line up alongside you next weekend to burn it off. I'd rather stick to yoga."

"I think you'll be OK. Can I offer you some more wine?"

"Please, it's fantastic."

"A 2000 Chateau-Neuf-de-Pape, one of my favourites."

She proffered him her glass by the stem, and this time he made quite sure the brush of his fingers against hers was deliberate, a little slow and sensual. She blushed but at the same time she boldly held his gaze, the heat stirring inside him as she bit her lip gently, clearly holding something back.

Not to worry, plenty of time to unpack that later.

Instead he refilled her glass and handed it back to her, their conversation dancing easily over the course of the meal, from her own favourite authors to their favourite travel experiences (he liked to travel in the off-season) to those familiar complaints about the city that every New Yorker had to comparing notes on last concerts or gigs they'd been to. She ate heartily too, polishing off her steak with a relish, scooping up the last of pineapple salsa with an appreciation that warmed the heart of the chef inside him. He liked feeding people, liked watching them enjoy the food he'd made. Loved making anything for Alexis of course, from pancakes to mac and cheese, but anyone in general who appreciated his food he was predisposed to liking. Beckett certainly fit the bill.

Plates tucked into the sink, they found themselves on opposite sides of the couch, wine glasses still in hand. She tucked her feet underneath herself, peering at him through those big green eyes, like he was a mystery she was trying to solve. Or a case she was getting squared away.

"How did you start playing football anyway? I mean, with your mom and everything?"

Not the question he'd been expecting. Counsellor Beckett was definitely a wily one.

"Ahh, I kinda fell into it really. I moved schools a few times, and was a scholarship student at a couple of the more expensive private academies in New York. Like Faircroft."

He could still picture the maroon-and-gold uniforms in his mind, the helmets with the insignia of the knight etched on the site.

"And I found it tough to make friends sometimes. I think I just joined a pick-up game with some guys early on, and quickly found it to be a good way to make friends when I changed schools. And I was good at it too. It gave me something to hang my hat on, something to focus on. My coaches believed in me, thought I had talent and encouraged me to pursue it in a way…"

She was nodding along, as if every word he spoke was adding another layer, another dimension to a picture she was painting in her head.

"Plus, no one ever wants to mess with a linebacker, not even about his actress mom and no dad. No quicker way to get people to shut up than that first pile-driving tackle on the first day of open practices."

"And your mom?"

"She was a little bewildered, to be honest. It wasn't her world at all. But she encouraged me, came to the games she could. When she sort of realised that I was going to go to college on a scholarship- hell when I realised that- it was a big relief."

He took a larger than intended draught of the wine, having not ever spelled it out in this manner for anyone before, not even himself. There was something about her that made him want to open up, lower his defences, let down his guard.

Make himself vulnerable.

It was dangerous.

"And what about you, Kate Beckett, corporate lawyer and conqueror? How did you come to make partner?"

He teased her, knowing she was too young to be a partner, and yet if that office was any indication she was well on her way.

"Not partner, Castle."

"Not yet, you mean."

He raised his glass to her, and she conceded the point, raising hers back.

"Not yet. I always wanted to go to law school. Family business, you might say- my parents were both lawyers. After my mom…passed away, it just sort of redoubled my determination to go to law school."

"And then corporate law?"

"Fell into it, really. Came out of law school not really breathing, not really sure what I wanted to do with my future. Lots of offers on the table, picked the one that I thought looked the most interesting. It was, for a while."

"For a while?"

She shrugged, not answering, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear instead. She looked down at the couch, as if she didn't want to make eye contact with him right now.

"It's not what I talked about doing when I used to make plans with my mom. Though she used to laugh at me and tell me 'Katie, make less plans'."

She looked up at him again, her eyes softer, a little bit wan now.

"It wasn't the same, not after she was murdered."

"Oh God, Kate, I'm so sorry. I'm-"

"It's OK, Castle. They caught the guy who did it, ordered it, everything. Remember the scandal that broke about 9 years ago with the ADA Bracken and crooked cop Montgomery who turned himself in?"

"That was…that was your mom? Jesus, Kate…"

"It's alright, you know. At least my father and I got some closure. Got some understanding of what happened, weren't just told it was random gang violence and shuffled off to the side. That helped, a lot, knowing she was fighting for justice."

He simply nodded, knowing that he couldn't fathom at all what they'd been through together as father and daughter, knowing anything he would say would sound trite.

A comfortable silence settled over them like a blanket. Usually it would be awkward, almost oppressive, but with her it was the opposite. Light, like the shimmer of a moonbeam on the cloak of the night. The weight of stories and secrets lifted off their shoulders, a burden shared, a burdened eased. Their eyes met, slight smiles dancing on both their features, a mutual acknowledgment that they had something to build on.

In due time, she spoke again, their first date drawing to a close.

"Listen, it's been lovely. You're the first guy I've met in a long, long time that I've felt…comfortable sharing that with, at least this early. And if you're not ready to run off screaming into the night, I would really love to do this again."

She unfolded those long, slim legs from underneath her, putting back on those strappy heels which elevated her to much nearer his height (though he liked how petite she was without them too).

"I would love that. And I'm not ready to run off anywhere, you'll have to try much harder to scare me away."

"I'll see what I can do then."

"Let me call you a car service, at least."

He walked her down to the car, her hand in the crook of his elbow, Eduardo at the door giving them a polite nod. When the black sedan pulled up, she turned to face him, eyes wide. Fires banked for the moment, maybe, but definitely not out. He dropped a gentle kiss on her lips, one she let herself relax into in turn.

"Good night, Castle."

"Till next time, Beckett."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I wanted to thank you all for your lovely reviews, and reiterate how much I cherish each and every one of them. I would love to hear everybody's thoughts on the latest chapter, and wish you all a Happy Holiday season for the next few days._


	4. 2nd & 4

Game days are always different for him. Always brighter, sharper, tenser. And this one is even more special, because for their third date, Kate Beckett is going to be watching him play for the first time, sitting with his mother and daughter in the box seats he's organised with her father. Their second date had been fun, ice skating down in midtown, coffees warming their hands. He was a functional skater, at best, but she was fantastic. Lithe and balanced and quick on her feet, he was entranced by the vision of her body on the ice, the dance of her limbs and the liquid flow of her movement. And yes, by her body in general.

This one had ended in a deeper kiss, his hands cupping her cheeks in the frost of the November New York air, her own hands sliding up and around his neck, drawing him in closer. They'd found a secluded part of the rink, and thankfully he'd been blissfully able to maintain his privacy on the night somehow. She'd tasted of dark chocolate and sweet apple cider, felt like Christmas had arrived early in his arms as they broke apart, both breathing heavily from the length of the kiss. The scent of her enveloped him, and it was heavenly. When those brilliant green eyes peered up at him from under her beanie and lashes, they were set in rosy-flushed features that made her look impossibly cuter than she already was. They were filled with heat and attraction and, he fancied, at least a smidgeon of, well, she just plain liked him to harken back to his teenage years.

So that's when of course, he'd blurted it out.

"Want to come watch me play next weekend?"

As soon as he'd said it, he was kicking himself. From football players, it was the most self-aggrandizing and virtually sleazy move out there, usually outgrown after the rookie year unless the invited person was a serious girlfriend or spouse. It was definitely not for third dates or the like, both for the sake of the date (many of whom found it a little classless) and sometimes the team too, which was a tight-knit group of friends, virtually brothers in battle out there on the field.

She smiled, though.

"Sure. Can I bring my dad?"

He'd heard a little about Jim Beckett, very little as a matter of fact, but he supposed it would be difficult to avoid this meeting forever. He tried to keep the slightly anxious tone out of his voice when he replied.

"Absolutely, bring him."

It was only then he'd remembered his other commitment on the day.

"Actually, Alexis and my mother will be there too. They don't attend every game but this is one they've booked in a little while ago."

This time it's her turn to get a little glassy-eyed, a little taken aback at the thought of meeting his family. He couldn't say he was surprised, especially this early in their burgeoning relationship. He usually kept his mother and especially his daughter clear of the women he'd dated before, but this time he found himself wanting them to meet, wanting Beckett and Alexis to get along from day one. Wanting the hurdle to be cleared early so that it didn't hang over him, hang over them, till it got serious. There were few things he took as seriously as being the best and most responsible father he could be to his daughter- he knew that his career and schedule often took him away from her, and had so in the past. That was one reason he appreciated how his mother had come into live with them after her last marriage failed, provided the last leg of the stable little family unit they'd formed, helped both him and Alexis out over the last few years.

"That would be lovely. As long as it isn't too soon?"

He shrugged.

"If you get along, it's not too soon. And if you don't…well all the time in the world could hardly help that, I think."

"Well, then sure, Mr. Big Time Football player, I'd love to come to watch you at the game."

She'd hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him down towards her as she leaned up at him, pressing his lips to hers in a firm kiss that sealed the deal.

That was that.

* * *

><p>He calls her as soon as he reaches the stadium out in New Jersey, nice and early on game day. They're playing at 1 this afternoon, so it's barely a tick past 10:30am when she answers.<p>

"Hey Castle. Dad and I are just on our way in now."

"Great. Enjoy the tailgate once you get here, if you want to. I've left your names with the ticket office, because I organised box seats for everyone. Alexis and my mother should be there when you guys get in, I'm headed in to get ready now."

"Sounds good, good luck and kick butt out there."

"Thanks."

And with that, he enters the pre-game zone. Every player has their own ritual, their own method of getting ready, getting psyched for the game ahead. There's a quiet buzz in the dressing room when he enters, a half-dozen guys already there before him, getting set-up. Some say hello, some he just exchanges nods with, but one he goes out of his way to greet.

"Rick."

Lance McConnell was there the earliest, he would've bet. The veteran quarterback was one of his closest friends on the team, an inch or so taller than him, and sporting the shock of bright orange hair that had earned him the nickname 'Carrot Lancer' all the way from his time at the Gamecocks to his Super Bowl and league MVP winning season at the Ogres.

"Lancer."

They shook hands, fist-bumped solidly in the vein of two men who'd bled for each other on the playing field, who'd dragged their respective sides of the team to guts and glory on the biggest stage through blood, sweat and tears. McConnell was an Ogres man through and through, drafted the year before him by the New York team who'd turned into a franchise quarterback and leader long before he'd arrived here in free agency. Their quick and easy friendship had helped more than most to settle him into the city and the culture of the organisation, and Alexis had become fast friends with the McConnell's own twins of around the same age. McConnell also has that easy charm that helps him befriend all who cross his path, without compromising the iron and demanding will that makes him one of the best leaders in the dress room anywhere in the league.

"How's Melissa?"

"Second trimester fun-zone. I told her to stay home with the terrible twosome today."

"Good idea. Let's kick some ass out there today."

He turns to head to his locker, further down the row from the quarterback's, but before he can go, McConnell catches his attention with a low whisper.

"Hey Rick- who's Kate Beckett?"

Bastard does know everything that's going on in this franchise.

He does nothing but extend a finger up over his shoulder as he walks away, knowing that McConnell will keep it to himself, and won't rib him about it anymore till after the game, knowing he'll respect the mental state necessary for the game to come.

Preparation continues over the next couple of hours as he works through his pre-game stretching and muscle-loosening, a gentle work-out that gets him warmed up without extending himself. RnB is the choice of the locker-room music, so he plugs his headphones in and chooses soothing jazz for the moment, knowing it's too early to hype himself up with anything faster paced. The other defensive players come by, check in with him. The big nose tackles, Dan and Jamar. The defensive ends and pass rushers, Melo and Bruce and Malik. His fellow linebackers, DeAndre and Jamie and Otis. All the rest, the corners and safeties, the special teamers. The locker room fills up, starts buzzing with real conversation. Some guys are still studying their tablets, going over game tape. He's spent so much time with that in the last week or so, he knows the reads and plays off by heart, can visualise himself diving through the line of blue-and-silver to get after the player with the ball, or drop off into coverage.

Then comes the next part of the preparation, with his favourite trainer on the team ready to strap him up before he hits the field of battle. He only vaguely remembers the days, in his college years and then when he was a rookie, when he didn't have to do this. Now his body is a creaking, painful machine, battered by years of combat against other monster of flesh and muscle and willpower. His joints need support, just the right amount of tightness on them so they feel comfortable without being restrictive. Nick has the magic hands, the veteran physio who looks after him every time he needs it. He knows he's slower now, not as explosive as he was when he first burst out onto the league. There's no way his body can match his previous athleticism in his mid-30s as it was in his mid-20s. His game is less about power and instinct, more about nous and intelligence.

Time to kick-off ticks down. Kate and her dad would have met Alexis and his mother by now, up in the box, but he puts all that out of his mind, tries to divorce it from his preparation. The defensive co-ordinator, Coach Martinez, stops by for a chat after he's strapped up and almost ready. They talk about the opposition's quarterback's tendency to audible out of run plays, how he fades right out of the pocket when he has, when to switch coverages on him, how he can struggle to read the change from the zone to the man and back again. Everything already in his playbook, already in his mind, but a quick refresher just for both men to be satisfied that all systems are go for today.

He's built his career on being the ultimate professional on the field, on leaving nothing to chance, and that's not going to change this week or any week.

The rest of it is a blur, his stomach heavy as it always is before a game, when the blood in his veins is slowly turning to ice, when the nerves work their way out of his system. Coach Weldon makes a speech, gees the guys up, but this is a big rivalry game, and they're professionals, the best in the business. It's all window dressing. He has quiet words with the rookies, calming them down, reinforces the defensive calls with the vets, knows they've got it together.

Besides, Beckett is out there watching him play. No way he's fucking up today.

Then it's game-time, the raw fury of their stadium greeting them as they stride out to the cheers. He likes the pageantry, the façade of it all, the theatrics. It's his stage, just like Broadway is his mother's, and he's going to own it today.

This is their house, and those prancing fancy blue-and-silver boys from Texas are going down.

Lance leads their first drive quickly and efficiently as he watches from the sideline, flat laser passes that fly like bullets to the hands of his wide receivers, open up the running game for their sophomore Jackson to knife through the enemy D-line for the touchdown. Fast, controlled, efficient, perfect.

Time to do his job.

Everything slows to crawl once his defensive unit is out there. He hears the coaches' instructions in his ear, barks out the calls to his teammates, settles in behind his defensive tackle. Moments swim glacially in front of him, the QB looking over his defense, trying to read them, calling out his play. He knows this is going to be a run play, watches the fullback line up in front of the running back. They're going to try to establish the run.

Not today.

From glacially slow to preternaturally fast, he explodes as soon as the centre snaps the ball, the roar of the crowd all around him. Jamar eats up two blockers on the O-line, leaving him to deal with the fullback, and he's done that a hundred times before. A thousand. He could do it in his sleep. A quick lash out with his arms in the technically perfect place, a studied twist of his shoulders and he's past the fullback, in behind the line of scrimmage and has put his shoulder through and wrapped up the running back before the wiry and elusive fellow can take more than two steps with the ball.

One of the defensive ends comes crashing through a second later, helping him finish up the tackle, helping him up.

He can hear the player he tackled lay on the ground, taking a jagged breath, slow to get up.

"Better luck next time, fellas."

* * *

><p>They win comfortably, 34-7.<p>

It's a good day's work, but every inch of his body hurts in the locker room after the game. The coach gave the game ball to Lancer, who'd well and truly deserved it after another stand out performance, but he'd played almost every snap in the defense, racked up another half-dozen tackles or so and forced a fumble which had given Lancer a short field to work with to ice the game.

Not a bad day for a creaky old middle linebacker.

He gives the usual platitudes to the media in the dressing room after the game, the talk of taking it one game at a time, respecting their opponents, working hard on the training field and listening to their coaches. He likes some of the beat guys, respects their football knowledge, but the body and mind are too sore today for more. All he wants to do is check his phone for texts.

_Hey dad, great game. Me and grams are heading home early to beat the traffic. _

_PS- Kate is really nice._

Well. That was something at least. It wouldn't really do till he could talk to his daughter, but he knew he'd have to spend some time in the ice bath after the game, give his weary bones and aching muscles some kind of aid in recovering.

His phone beeped again.

_Well…that was something. I'm impressed, and dad even more so. Should we wait for you to finish up?_

He wished he could, but there really was no point to making them wait for over an hour, not out in the middle of nowhere here in the stadium.

_Thank you. No, I'll be a while. Head on home and I might see you tonight?_

Pads shucked, boots shucked, locker room finally clear of media, he looked up to see Lancer grinning at him again when his phone beeped. Oh the fucker was just going to be relentlessly charming about it all.

_Sorry. Dinner and drinks with Lanie tonight…I'll make it up to you._

He can't quite stop himself from pouting in disappointment.

* * *

><p>The next time his phone beeps, it's late. Almost midnight, which is late by his standards on a game day, after a careful recovery dinner with Alexis (his mother had stepped out for the night) where they'd relived most of the game on Game Rewind. Alexis was almost as good an analyst, in some ways, as most of the talking heads on TV. Better, probably.<p>

_Come open the door. Quietly._

It was from Beckett. He padded, curious as to what was going on, and opened the door very quietly as instructed. She stood before him wearing a long trench coat, but before he could even say anything she was shushing him with her fingers.

"Your bedroom, Castle."

Far be it from him to argue with the lady, even though she ducked away from his kiss. Instead, hand-in-hand they made their way back to his bedroom, and she carefully made sure that all the hidden partitions and doors were closed.

"Lie on your bed."

Again, he did as instructed. Her eyes are wide and bright and green, and she's just a little bit tipsy, he can tell.

She opened the coat, and his jaw dropped. She was wearing the barest of skirts, and a crop topped that could only charitably be called legal. Her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail, and she held a pom-pom in one hand.

"Now, after winning the game, isn't the star player supposed to get rewarded by the cheerleader?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: I want to continue to thank you all for the reviews and feedback, they really are what are keeping me going with this story. Happy New Year to everyone, next update will be in 2015!_


	5. Into the Endzone

"This is like three fantasies come true at once."

He watches with rapt attention as the coat slipped all the way off her shoulders and pooled onto the floor, eyes running greedily over every stunning inch of that body. He couldn't quite stop himself from muttering, and the wicked grin that flashes over her features was well worth it. She moved with a dancer's grace, all loose limbs and swaying hips, tossing her hair back over head as she moved towards him. The long, graceful legs, bare to the upper thigh, gleam in the light of his bedroom, entrancing his eyes, which then moved up to her bare belly, the cropped top of the uniform gashed to show off generous cleavage.

She throws away the pom-pom, stalking him like a panther stalked her prey, and he was all for it, all for the wilder side of Kate Beckett, one he had only had glimpses of so far, but one that had his total attention, one that he could appreciate on both a primal and intellectual level.

"Hottest cheerleader ever. Why do you even have a costume?"

She chuckled lightly, sliding onto the bed now, still coming towards him, her eyes glinting with both need and humour, the perfect combination.

"Halloween party costume from back in my law school days. I wasn't even sure I'd hung onto it, but when I mentioned that I might still have it to Lanie and that I wanted to do this…well, a couple of glasses of red wine and her encouragement later, here we are."

She's over him now, the heat of her body sending electric desire humming through his nervous system, his boxers uncomfortably tight as her hips settle over his.

"Holy shit, remind me to thank your friend when you introduce us."

"Enough talk about her, Castle."

She leaned over as she spoke, and he couldn't help but agree. All his thoughts, all his feelings, his entire being was now focused on this goddess on top of him now, and doubly so when she finally presses her lips against his. This was a darker, hungrier kiss, her hands sliding over the broad planes of his chest, over the faded old jersey he's wearing, while his hands move immediately to her mane, fingers sliding in her hair and around her neck, pressing her to him.

Her hips ground against him, unsubtle with desire, and he'd had enough of being pacified, of lying back, of being passive. With a flick of his hips, he drives them over till she was semi-pinned under him, his hands moving down her body, fingers spanning ribs, palming her breasts, listening to her gasp and moan under his ministrations as his mouth moved down to her jaw and neck, alternating kisses with light nips and sucks.

"Oh God yes, Castle…"

Her hips buck underneath him when he reached one particular point on the side of her neck, and he paid attention to it while continuing to learn the delights of her body, what made her weak with arousal and what caused her to whimper with delight. His shaft pressed uncomfortably against his own boxers but he ignored it, wanting to focus on her, wanting to figure her out, wanting to know what made her tick even on this feral, animalistic level.

His fingers slide around to the back of her top, undoing it quickly while she tugs at his shirt. As soon as her top disappears to a dark corner of his room, he complies with her demands too, lifting his hands. She leans up to remove his shirt entirely, till their bare-chested to each other. Immediately his thumb skims over one light-brown areola, sliding over the stiffness of one peak while his mouth closes on the other, sucking gently. Her body clenches underneath him, tense with need as soon as he is paying attention to her dusky peaks with both hands and mouth.

Another sensitivity he files away for future reference.

Her fingers tousled in his hair as he moves his way down her body, planting kisses over her stomach, skirting her belly button till he arrived at her lower navel. Her thighs had already parted, offering him access to her core, and he took eager advantage, skimming over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, luxuriating at how she was pliant under his touch.

"Oh God, Castle, please."

There was a thin, reedy, desperate edge to her voice, one that delighted him and sent heat roaring through him in equal parts. That he could bring her to this kind of edge on their first time, that the chemistry that had sizzled between them now delivered so completely in bed, that was ever so important and pleasing to him.

He listens, his hand skating to her back, delighting in the curves of her rear, squeezing with thick hands that sent shudders through her body, ones he could feel vibrate through her, but instead of further teasing he simply slid her short skirt and panties off her in one quick move. The latter were already soaked, but he didn't waste any more time on them, not when there was a greater feast on offer in front of him. The heady scent of her arousal was evident even before his tongue reached her silken core, while his big hands, sensitive and deft when they needed to be, worked over the button of her clit, alternately both gentle and demanding.

"Oh fucking hell, yes, Castle, right there…"

Her hands fist in his hair, guiding him to the right spots, especially as she clenches and shivers at particular moments while he works her over. He listened to the rhythms of her body, working out when and where he needed to be gentle and when and where she liked it rougher, harder, faster. The salty tang of her juices were addictive, demanding he lapped harder and deeper, and he did so while she raised her hips to meet him, reduced to little more than moans now as she entreated him to go deeper and quicker.

He can feel her start to arrive on the edge of climax, her breathing shallower and faster now than it has been at any point tonight, the edge in her voice growing sharper as he switches his mouth to her clit and slides two thick digits inside her when his tongue was. Immediately he feels her velvet heat clamp and flutter against them, and he wastes no time, sliding them forward and deep, curling the tips of his fingers up so they press against her while his tongue swirls and sucks on her little nub, working that cluster of nerves. The view up her body is magnificent, with her back arched and her head thrown back against a pillow, that brunette mane splayed wildly. Her eyes are wild and dark, pupils so dilated that he can barely discern they're green, nostrils flaring.

And then his fingers find the spot they're searching for and everything amps up a thousandfold.

"Oh God Rick, I'm coming!"

Her thighs clamp hard around him, as do her silken inner walls around his fingers, while every part of her body seems to shake and quiver around his ministrations. He doesn't let up, coaxing her along, drawing the climax out as long as possible as her vocal expressions are just reduced to wordless moans and whimpers, smaller aftershocks rolling through her body after the main climax as finished, coating his fingers in her juices. Her hands loosen their grip on his hair (a little painful, but well worth it), and push him down gently away from her clit. He takes the hint, moving to lap up her juices, tasting her essence while she can do nothing but huff and regain her breath, watching her recover.

He's almost painfully hard from the experience.

Some women take some time to recover, and he'd be perfectly okay with waiting, but Kate Beckett is not one of them and bless her for it. Instead she tugs at his shoulders, wanting him to come back up her body, and he complies. Her taste is still lingering on his lips and tongue when she kisses him, and it's the most erotic and wonderful thing in the world when she dives in, kissing him deeply so they share that taste between them as she slides her thighs over his.

"I want you inside me."

She whispers into his ear, and he can't think of anything he wants more either. Nothing is more important to him right here and right now than making love to this woman, and from the way her fingers are sliding around the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down, they're totally in-sync on that one. His length springs free with a sharp smack against his stomach, so tightly held was it against his boxers, and he rather loves the naked lust that appears on her features when she sees it, the visual evidence of what she's done to him, of his need for her.

"Now this is the real MVP, Castle."

He can't help but groan at her joke, but soon as that groan turns very different in tone as she follows up her words with her mouth on him, sliding her tongue along the base of his shaft, and then crowning the tip with her lips, her cheeks hollowing as she works her mouth along it. It's the perfect combination of warmth and wetness, and just gentle pressure.

"Kate, not too much. Please."

He pleads with her, knowing that the dam inside him is close to breaking, that she could do it if she chose, if she applied a little more speed and pressure and he wouldn't have any control over it. Another of those wicked smiles dances over features, but she keeps it slow and low, her fingers working his shaft where her mouth isn't.

"Got a condom?"

"Right side, top drawer."

Soon enough, her slim digits are rolling the latex down over his length, and they're looking at each other with almost gleeful anticipation. Once that's done, she glides up his body, her fingers trailing over the bumps and ridges of his chest and arms, the muscular bulges built in the weight rooms but forged out in the field in gladiatorial sporting combat till she's positioned over his shaft, and slides down onto him.

Fuck.

The sensation of her enveloping him is almost too much to bear, especially given how wet she is and how smoothly they fit together. Her lips fall open in a breathless moan as he arches his hips, and she leans forward to get the angle just right. His fist clench when she pulses around him, every vein in his shaft throbbing with pleasure and anticipation. This going to be quick and fierce and powerful, he knows it, and can see the same emotions in her eyes, can see it in the way she's astride him, the lioness atop her prey, the alpha in this particular moment though the sexiest part is the way they both duel for dominance, neither of them willing to concede till the moment is absolutely right.

She rolls her hips, sending a powerful wave of sensation caroming through him, the need jolting up his spine, till his mind and body are awash in pleasure.

"Kaaaateeee…"

Her name is a benediction and a prayer, an entreaty to the goddess atop him. She draws the exhalation out of him like she's force of nature, vivid and powerful and glorious as his hands clamp down her hips, sliding over her bare flanks up the dimples of her back.

She leans over to kiss him, and with that he feels conscious thought slipping away from him, like they're one body moving in unison, not two. Like when her hands run over him, and his run over her, they're sliding over their own skin as much as anything else. When his gaze meets her bright green eyes, sees the sheen of sweat on her brow, the gasp of pleasure that comes from her every time she works her hips, it reflects himself in almost every way. His nervous system is awash with white pleasure, drowning in her as she sets the rhythm and rocks herself to it, as his hands slide over her gorgeous breasts and work their stiff little peaks.

He can feel himself begin to crack, the desire begin to overwhelm him and his can but mutter a few words of warning in between his own groans of desire, his voice thick and husky with it.

"Kate, I'm going to…I'm going t-"

"Come for me Rick. Come for me babe, come in me."

She plunges herself deeper, taking more of him inside her and squeezing her walls at the same time and it's all he can take. He feels himself erupt, unable to do anything but lock eyes with her, seeing her come apart at the same time, their climaxes rocking through them simultaneously, the feeling of union redoubling their sexual high. Her hands clench, dig deep into his biceps, while his own thumbs press into the soft flesh of her thighs and hips. Her neck is bowed, her entire thrown forward with a scream as she climaxes that is just as loud as his guttural grunts, words failing them both. Sweat-slicked wild hair frames her features and he can't look away, can't help but try and capture this image forever as it might as well be happiness defined, or at least one facet of it, every bit as sweet as lifting a Lombardi in its own way.

They ride out the high together, more euphoric and stimulating than any drug (and he's done a few in his time), till her thighs quiver and give way beneath her and she slides off him, boneless and spent. He feels the same way himself, and after taking a moment to dispose of the condom and clean himself up, staggers back to bed and slides in next to her. To his great and joyful surprise, Kate Beckett is a snuggler who slides readily into his arms as soon as he opens them, letting him wrap himself around her, the heat of their bodies keeping them warm and cocooned even as the sweat dries off and he presses a kiss to her brow.

"Holy shit."

He whispers it against her skin, having no other words for what has just transpired.

"So…you liked it? Better than an actual cheerleader?"

"Better than anyone else at all, trust me."

It was no exaggeration. He'd always thought those tales of stars bursting and ascending to another plane in the moment had been fanciful lies, but it had all come true tonight, in a way he never ever expected.

His hand skated over her cheek, tilting her jaw up a little so he could kiss her, keeping it soft and tender.

"Were you ever a cheerleader?"

"Nope, more of the leather-jacket-and-jeans punk-rebel type."

"I can totally picture it.

"Liar."

She slapped him light, laughter huffing out of her as he squeezed her even tighter in his embrace for a moment.

"But it was a fantasy, wasn't it?"

She looked away for a moment, biting her lip in a manner that was both adorable and sexy all at once, in a way that no really had any right to be.

"Maybe."

"Well, maybe next time you can keep the uniform on and I'll keep my jersey on for you. But for now, round 2 in the shower soon?"

Her eager nod of agreement sealed the deal.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Better earn that M-rating, eh? Keep leaving me your thoughts and feedback, I love reading each and every one of them. A few people have asked me what the chapter titles mean- they're NFL terms that loosely symbolically represent the thrust of each chapter. It's not really very important to know for the story, so it's OK if you don't._


	6. Pick-Six

Kate Beckett was a problem.

That was the thought running through his head as he pulled out onto the highway, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel in time with the soft beats of the music playing in the early morning.

Or rather, how hard and fast he was falling for Kate Beckett was a problem and a thrill all at a once, a rollercoaster ride he'd never experienced before. It was sliding past Thanksgiving into December now, and the whole team was in a hot streak in a way he'd only last seen during their Super Bowl run a couple of years back. Lancer was throwing touch-downs only, no picks, and the defense had really clicked with the D-line stuffing the run, the cornerbacks and safeties making big plays when they needed to and his linebacker unit mopping up everything in midfield. It was hardly the time to moon around like a love-struck teenager, but he couldn't really help himself, texting her whenever he got a chance, going over to her apartment to spend the night if he didn't have practice in the morning (and her coming over when she had the time). They tried to spend almost every night together and his mother and daughter accepted it without batting an eyelid at the breakfast table when Beckett was there, warmly welcoming her into conversation ranging from the latest show Martha was intending to audition for to latest essay Alexis had to write for high school.

The hours, the hours they both worked were definitely an actual problem, throwing the biggest spanner in the works that he was aware of. He tried to be in at practice early, setting an example, leading the younger players and rookies. They had to know the only secret to success was hard work, that instilling that ethic in themselves was the only way they'd last more than a season or two for the Ogres, or any team. That meant getting up even earlier, in the dark, for the hour's drive out to the Jersey practice facility, the road devoid of cars, lots of time to think like he had now. He switched what he was listening from soft jazz to something more up-tempo, rock to get his blood pumping, getting in the right mental state for his work-out. The morning dark was turning into light grey and drizzly rain splattered against his windscreen, matching his introspective mood.

She had tough hours too, working on her latest case, another multi-billion dollar merger and acquisition that had her burning the midnight oil, early to work (though usually after him) and late back (definitely after him). They made their little time with each other count as best they could, usually holding movie nights, sometimes cooking, sometimes just ordering take-out. They'd even thought they'd be able to catching a showing of _Forbidden Planet_, a mutual favourite at the Angelica last week but then her work had sucked her back in, some kind of emergency that flown straight over his head when she'd explained it. But still, overall, they were struggling through it, making it work somehow despite all the drags on their efforts, swimming upstream against the current. She was worth it, what they had so far was worth it, and most importantly of all, what that kernel promised to grow into if they made it past these teething pains and let it have the time to the breathe and mature- that would certainly be worth it.

There was one other ongoing issue. Despite their best efforts to keep things under wraps, it was almost a certainty that they were going to get outed eventually. They'd talked about the possibility, how she'd handle it, and it hadn't been something she'd been keen on of course. He'd promised to ensure that he'd do his best to keep her out of the limelight, keep himself out of at the same time. But unless they never ever ventured out of the loft, or her apartment (a tempting if unworkable possibility), then it was definitely going to happen at some time. And that worried him, at least somewhat.

In fact, it could happen tonight. He was attending Lancer's restaurant opening tonight. Quite a few of the team were going to be there, and since it wasn't far from her office, they'd talked about how it might be feasible for her to come by for a little bit towards the end maybe so they could leave together, maybe sneak out the back door.

The rain drummed on as he drove on, the skies a little too grey for his liking.

* * *

><p>"Dammit Lancer, you can't be good at this too. It's just unfair."<p>

The lights and the atmosphere at Lancer's new place, which was simply called "Lancer's", were a far cry from the dark grey and quiet of his early morning drive, as was the twanging guitar of the country music that was only barely audible over the chatter and ambience of the full restaurant. The Ogres players sat a huge table near the middle, Lancer holding court in the centre.

"You like the place, Rick?"

"Damn straight I do. Playing up that down-home ol' country Texan charm up a bit, but people are going to eat this up. Especially given the food is so damn good."

Lancer shrugged, smiled, clearly happy with the events of tonight. Behind that aww-shucks charm and disarming smile lay one of the sharpest brains he'd ever met, on and off the football field. And wherever Lancer wasn't quite on the ball, his wife was, and the two made a ruthless and awesome partnership. One he envied.

One he wanted for himself.

"Where's Kate?"

Lancer leaned over, pitching his voice low so it wouldn't carry beyond the two of them, and he appreciated the gesture.

"Working, but she's going to try and come by later when I get out of here."

He nodded towards the photographers lurking just outside the restaurant, the mini-red carpet they'd set up all flashing lights and mini poses as the Ogres had walked in earlier, toast of the town thanks to their hot streak of won games, the way they looked set to be play-off bound again. The team floated in its own little bubble at times like this in the season, which hardly helped in terms of staying connected with their families and loved ones, which was why it was important to spend time with them when they had precious few minutes. He knew the brutal punishing schedule had played some part in the drifting apart and break-up of his first marriage (though less than Meredith's infidelity and her total lack of interest in looking after Alexis when she was born). He still wasn't quite sure how he'd managed in those early days in LA, but now as a veteran, savvy to the needs of the team and how they should be balanced against one's personal life, he hoped he could walk that tightrope with Beckett.

Right on cue, his phone beeped, indicating an incoming text. When he opened it up with his big digits, strong and callused from hauling down running backs and quarterbacks, or mauling with offensive linemen who made it into the second level, he saw it was from her.

_You guys still there? Stuck at work still, be there in maybe an hour or two?_

Instead of texting her back, he excused himself from the table and went searching for a corner of privacy and quiet, finding it near the bathroom and calling her back.

"Hey, how're you?"

"Hey, Castle. Long day. Callahan dropped a ton of extra paperwork on me today at the last minute, and it's not something that I can delegate to one of the juniors."

He could hear the tiredness in her tone, even in the few simple words. Callahan was her boss, the partner in charge of the case she was working on at the moment, and someone that she'd need to convince to vote for her when she went up for partner herself in the next couple of years. She needed to impress.

"No worries. Come down when you can, we'll be here for a while."

She sighs quietly into the phone, and they just take a minute, enjoying the sound of each other's silence over the line.

"Thanks. As soon as I finish looking over the precedents and get this paperwork written up, I'll be there."

There was a quiet, almost robotic exhaustion to her voice, one that made his heart go out to her. He didn't say anything, knowing she needed nothing but support right now.

"Look forward to it."

Sometimes the way she spoke about her work was confusing, and he wanted to probe at that. She yearned to be the best, put in the hours, but there seemed to a lack of love for it. It was almost like she worked by rote, like she expected herself to be in this job and so she was. Not that he doubted her passion for the law in general, but he knew how hard it was to put in those gruelling hours, to drive yourself to the brink of exhaustion and the point of breaking and then get up the next day and do it all again. That was what training camp was like every year, and every year it was harder as his body got older and slower and there were a bunch of fresh new faces, stretching them to the limits. But what he never doubted was that he loved being there. There would come a day when he wouldn't, when the price he paid was too high, but he hadn't reached that point yet. She sometimes sounded like she was perpetually at that point, but she went in anyway, like she didn't know any better.

Then again, he loved football but he didn't plan on staying with it the rest of his life. He knew what he wanted to do after letting the game go. Maybe she did the same.

* * *

><p>The crowd and atmosphere had died down considerably by the time she finally arrived, almost all the Ogres gone. The younger ones went to hit the bars and clubs on their one night off this week, the older ones headed back to families for precious time with them, to rest and relax. With Alexis away on a school trip, he didn't have to feel guilty about not doing the same himself tonight. He was in deep conversation with Lance, debating the merits of their next opponent when he glanced up over his friend's shoulder and saw her standing there near the entrance, handing her coat to the staff.<p>

She was still in her work pantsuit, but she'd clearly made an effort to dress up a bit before showing up, her lipstick bright and red and sexy, even from this far away.

"Go, loser."

Lancer laughed at him as he spoke, and he discretely gave his friend the finger as he moved towards her, which just made the quarterback laugh even harder behind him. But as soon as she saw him coming closer her face lit up in a smile, green eyes going from dull to sparkling in a nanosecond and thoughts of anyone else but her fell away.

His blood sang at the sight of her, the scent of her, the warmth of her skin to his touch as they embraced, brushing a quick kiss against each other's lips before they could stop themselves. His whole body thrummed with happiness when she was near and he still marvelled at the fact that he had a similar effect on her from the way she smiled when she saw him. Up close, it was far more obvious how tired she was, the bags under her eyes not susceptible to make-up, the sallowness of her skin clear to someone who'd joyously mapped every inch of that naked body.

"Hey."

He whispered it to her as they made their way to the private table he'd had Lance keep for them, tucked away in a corner, away from all prying eyes.

"Hey."

She whispered it back, entwining her fingers around his as the luxuriated in the simple touch, the pleasure of seeing each other and being with each other again. He could see her shoulders relax as they sat, the way the tension and stress she'd been holding in her spine flowed out of her body as she finally let herself switch off, and he rubbed his thumb gently over the back of her hand.

"Oh man, I'd kill for one of you massages tonight, Castle."

"We'll see what we can do after we head home, but first food. I bet you're starving."

"God yes."

She nodded affirmatively, eagerly reaching out for the menu as he poured a generous glass of wine, her eyes scanning the list for whatever struck her fancy. They both ended up ordering steak, and spoke of inconsequential things, sharing titbits about their day. Lancer came up and joined them for a bit, deflecting the praise about the place, crossing his fingers in front of them when they told him they were sure it was going to be successful and then deftly leaving them alone again to their privacy a few minutes later.

His worries still remained, but the rest of dinner did make them recede into the background as they drank their wine, ate the delicious food and generally allowed themselves to relax into the easy back-and-forth that was the basis of their chemistry. It didn't hurt when she slipped her stockinged foot out of her expensive heels under the tablecloth, running it up the inside of his leg and up to his thigh as he semi-choked on his wine and flushed deep red, guiltily looking around to see if anyone was watching. No one was, thankfully, so she grew bolder, her smirk incredibly naughty as that foot wandered right up into his lap, sliding up in between his legs. The rest of the meal was a game of one upmanship, all slowly-licked fingers and pink tongues teasing between lips and hollowed cheeks from both of them, ratcheting up the heat degree-by-degree till they both broke at virtually same time, grabbing for their things and he promised to Lancer to settle the bill next day at practise but-they-really-needed-to-get-out-here-right-now, and his laconic friend sketched them a wave and told them it was on the house. They snuck out through the kitchen and into the back alleyway, hand-in-hand and giggling, almost home scot-free when the lone lurking paparazzo who'd gambled on staking out the rear entrance surprised them at the entry of the alley, camera snapping, flashing bright in the brisk air.

The mystery brunette beauty accompanying Richard Castle was the headline photo on Page Six the next day.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you all for the reviews and private messages, I'm reading them all and taking them to heart. The continued support and feedback for this little tale means so much to me, and it is what keeps me going. Would love to hear your thoughts on the latest chapter. Cheers._


	7. Tackle For Loss

Something was wrong.

He wasn't always the smartest guy in the room, but he prided himself on being perceptive and being able to read people when necessary. Hell, a large slice of his job as middle linebacker was reading the quarterback and his eyes, reading the play before it even developed so he could crash it. And now, he knew something was wrong. Beckett was quieter than normal in the week after the incident with the paparazzo at the restaurant, the smile not quite as bright when it came, which was less often than usual. Texts and calls back would come in more slowly, and would be shorter when they did. In most circumstances he would simply chalk off it to a tough week at work, but that was practically every week for her and the timing was a little too coincidental.

Even more frustrating was the fact that even though he knew something was wrong, their tough schedules made it difficult to sit down and talk about it. The Ogres were in the final stretch of their season now, 8 and 4 going into the final month of the season, everything on the line as it came down to whether they'd make it to the play-offs or not. Three of the last four games were tough divisional rivalries, two road games to Dallas and Philly sandwiching homes games with Washington and his old team LA Raiders. As well as relentless practices, that meant film study for hours upon hours, breaking down opposition schemes and tendencies with the coaches and fellow linebackers, trying to get a feel for the game that was coming up, for the quarterback's instincts, for the running backs' tendency to cut or power, for screen throws or long passes, when to blitz or when to drop into coverage.

When she begged off from a rare night they'd planned to spend together, their only chance at a date night before he flew out for Texas, he gritted his teeth and brought it on the practice field, levelling scout-team players with an intensity that left them groaning on the turf. Colours blurred, ran together on the field when he hunted down the ball, called out the defensive plays, read the whole field like a book in front of him. Sweat dripped off his brow, sliding over his eyeblack and down his neck, and he didn't bother taking his helmet off to wipe it down till the end of the practise. Water hitting his parched throat was only partial relief from the irritation of this distance that had grown between them.

She called him as they arrived at the airport in the team bus, and he took a few steps away from the rest of the bustling team to take the call.

"Hey, Castle."

Even now, her voice is softer and he fancies it is more distant than he is used, like she's put up a wall in between them that wasn't there a week or two ago. Unfortunately, this is hardly the time or place to get into it.

"Hey, Beckett. Still at work?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. You guys about to fly out?"

"Yeah, at the airport now."

He turned back to look at the team, now milling about and picking up their own bags from the bus's luggage area as they prepared to enter the side room of the airport where they'd go through security privately. A couple of them were also on phones to wives and kids (he planned to call Alexis after they landed in Texas) though he bet none of them were on calls quite like this one.

She exhaled quietly into the phone, and he waited for her words, waited for her to say something, to give some hint of what exactly was going on.

"Well, I know tomorrow's gameday, and I'm meetings on this United Holdings deal all day so I just wanted to call you and…say good luck. Kick butt out there tomorrow. I'll try and catch as much of the game as I can."

He took a moment himself, grinding his foot into the concrete of the side of the kerb. He knew this was a tricky point to negotiate, and right now it was completely out of his hands. Very little he could say now would make things better, and most of it might make it worse, make her withdraw faster.

'Thanks, Beckett. Sorry you're having to work over the weekend again."

"You have to, pretty much every weekend."

"True, true. Listen, I'm going to have to go, we're about to go through security and board."

Most of the team was already inside the terminal, just a few stragglers like himself left outside in the bitterly cold New Jersey air, the December sky clear this far out from the city. Another plane rumbled into flight behind him.

"Okay, well, I'll speak to you later Castle."

"Yes, after I come back- we should talk, Kate. See you soon."

The click of the phone line going dead seemed to hang in the air afterwards like an ominous toll of the bell, the sword of Damocles ringing in his ear.

* * *

><p>After the winter weather of New York, the sun and mild heat of Arlington, Texas is almost oppressive, especially once he's in his pads and jersey. At least the noise of the crowd isn't as bad as it can be other stadiums, like in Seattle or Kansas City, where they almost play in silence especially when Lancer and the offense are on the field. Blue and silver, the colours of their opponents, line the stadium and his practised eyes skim the opposition for any surprises or new tells. They come here every year for a divisional game, and in a way it is familiar to them, holding no fears as they've come and walked away with victories before. Their rivals are 6-6 this season, desperately hanging on in a race for a wildcard berth, having eaten one of those losses up in New York against the Ogres already.<p>

He still doesn't feel good about Beckett, but all he can do now is work that sick tension out on the field.

Sweat drips over his brow and under his helmet again, and he tilts his neck towards one of the assistants standing nearby with a Gatorade bottle, signalling his need. The assistant angles and squeezes the bottle through the bars of his helmet, the sweet and cool liquid refreshing like the first dive into a swimming pool on a scorching hot day. The noise and the atmosphere thrum, washes over him and he accepted it, basked in it, till it was just a part of him, no more annoying than the feel of the jersey he wore.

The kick-off team was already out there, and he knew they'd be out on the field soon enough, trying to stop the other team in their tracks.

"We gonna kick their fucking asses."

He nodded in response to the assertion, different guys geeing themselves up for the game in different ways. Some brash, some quiet, some worried, some confident. It took all sorts. He patted Jamar on the shoulder, the defensive line man who had half a foot and about 100 pounds on him.

"Fuck yeah we are. You just knock their o-line back on their asses, I'll take care of the rest."

By the time they get out onto the field, he's almost itching to hit someone, drive his shoulder into their sternum, leave them pancaked into the ground. He watches the offense form up, his mind moving quickly over all the formations and tendencies he's spent hours on during the week, intuiting this is going to be a run play, knowing they're going to want to establish the run so the zone-read can become an option, so they can isolate the defensive backs in man coverage, so they can get the passes going, so the deep ball becomes a real threat.

First things first. Stop the run.

He calls out the play, a standard four-man rush, but he knows almost exactly what's going to happen, how the centre and the guard are going to combine to open up a hole in the d-line where the big, powerful back is going to try and storm through and gain plenty of yards-after-contact.

Not on his watch.

As soon as the centre snaps the ball he's in motion up the middle, anticipating the hole that's going to get opened up, and sure enough there it is, the blue-and-silver jersey of the running back coming right through it and he lowers his shoulder and angles his head, arms reaching around and drives right into the back, big bodies thumping into each other around him. The meaty slap-crunch of contact is over in nanoseconds, the play halted as soon as they're lying on the field, him on top of the guy he tackled, refs whistling everywhere. DeAndre holds out a hand, hauling him upright as the rest of the defense congregates around him, all backslaps and minor congratulations.

"Great tackle, Skip!"

"Nice one, Rick."

"Good work!"

He nods, high-fives back where needed, getting back into position for the next play as the offense huddles up. One thing he's always loved about the game is how time changes on the field. Before and after the play, everything is slow and loud and sonorous, and it feels like everything is walking around treacle. As soon as the ball is snapped, the opposite comes true, everything is training and instinct and speed, hyper-velocity movement till the refs blow the whistle again, everything a hunt for the ball and a blur, collisions and noise and life as if some higher power had hit the fast-forward button on their universal DVR. He almost didn't know which one he preferred though there was one major problem with the slow version as he lined up for the next snap. Too much time. Too much time to think.

Kate Beckett's beautiful visage and her soft, distant voice floated through his mind as he lined up for the next snap.

With some trouble, he re-focused on the formation in front of him, what the QB was doing, where the tight-end stood, how there was now a fullback in place. He heard the call come in for a blitz, shifted his position so he stood nearer the B-gap than the A-gap, called out the defensive assignment. Nothing, and absolutely nothing, would distract him when he was on the field. The play clock ticked down, the centre crouched.

The ball snapped.

Explosion and motion again. This time he drove hard into the gap, but was met by the blocking fullback, hands slamming into his chest, driving him sidewards. Nothing counted for those precious moments but wrestling for advantage and momentum, shifting his weight from side to side, muscles bulging as he strove against his heavier, shorter opponent, hard to shift due to the low centre of gravity.

Whistles blew again, and time slowed.

The blitz had done its job, and he'd done his. While he'd occupied the fullback, Elliot and Kony had slipped in via the gap and around right side almost unimpeded, overwhelming the offensive line and protection scheme in general, blowing up and sacking the QB before he could get his throw out into the air. Now they were in the perfect position, facing a third-and-long, able to the dictate what the offense had to do and match up with it. The play ended up being a short run, stuffed again by him and one of the safeties, and that was that, he could walk off the field as the special teams unit came on to look after the punt.

The rest of the game ran to that pattern, with their offense purring along smoothly under Lancer's supervision and leadership and his defense doing its best to limit the home team's scoring. He personally racked up tackle after tackle, and even tipped a ball that led to an interception by one of the cornerbacks. They won 24-10, silencing the Texan crowd, ensuring even the cheerleaders stopped dancing, their pom-poms drooping listlessly like their team in the heat.

The spectre of Beckett continued to haunt him at the oddest moments though.

It was more than a little disconcerting to look up from a tough tackle and see her face instead of the blue sky. Or be standing over at the sideline and catch sight of her face in the crowd, only for the second glance to resolve itself into a complete stranger. Long after the coach handed him one of the game balls in the locker room after the win, his thoughts kept returning to her, to the conversation he knew they had to have.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately the flight out of Dallas was delayed, meaning it was almost early morning by the time he got back to the loft, and he knew both Alexis and Martha would be fast asleep, that they'd talk in the morning.<p>

The shape of Beckett snoring softly under the blankets in his bed gave him slight pause though, after the way she'd bee occupying his thought over the last day or so. And he hadn't at all expected her to be here when he came back.

Softly, so as not to wake her, he tip-toed into the master bathroom and got ready for bed himself and slid into the sheets next to her, till his arms were curled around her and she snuggled back into his embrace, soft and warm and wonderful in his arms.

He fell asleep still savouring the sensation of her. Their talk could wait till tomorrow too.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks as ever for reading and giving me your feedback. I'm sorry it's taken a little while to update because I've been busy so thanks for bearing with me as well. As always, reviews and feedback on this latest chapter would be deeply appreciated._


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